


This Bed, Our Bed

by illhaveapepperonytogoplease



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Banter, F/M, Fluff, Light Smut, songfic (sorta)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-08-23 09:35:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20240689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illhaveapepperonytogoplease/pseuds/illhaveapepperonytogoplease
Summary: Five times Tony didn't want to leave their bed and the one time Pepper didn't.





	This Bed, Our Bed

**Author's Note:**

> All the chapters in this work will be based off a song that randomly inspired me to write it and I’ll include the specific lyrics that caused my Pepperony thoughts. I have at least two more chapters in the works but this is kinda just a sporadic thing so don’t expect much lol

_Once upon a time in South Africa_  
_I turned to you under the bleeding moon_  
_The ships were sailing in beneath the table top_  
_It was three o' clock, the night was still_  
_Yeah, we stayed at Joanna's for a night or two_  
_Though she never really saw us, we were too consumed_

* * *

“Pepper, what the hell are you doing?” Tony grumbles tiredly when he wakes up, seeing the double doors to the balcony open and her slender frame leaning against the railing, looking out at the rather magnificent view one got from the presidential suite at the Four Seasons Hotel in Johannesburg. She’s in the white button up he’d been wearing last night and it doesn’t look like she even bothered to put on underwear-his shirt barely covers what he thinks is her bare ass. The air is cold and it’s breezy-two things Tony honestly never thought he’d say in reference to South Africa-and the draft is probably what woke him up.

He searches around for his boxers and when he’s unable to find them, grabs the blanket off the bed and wraps himself up in it. The last thing they needed is some photographer lurking around at-he glances towards the clock-3:19 in the morning, snapping some highly inappropriate photos.

“It’s freezing out here,” he says the moment he steps onto the balcony, the marble cold under his feet. “Come back inside.”

She glances over her shoulder at him and smiles, teasing, “Good morning to you, too, sunshine.”

“It’s three a.m. That’s hardly _ morning_,” he responds, now standing next to her, and she gives him an expectant look and it takes him a moment-this whole relationship thing is still new to him and unless it had to do with sex, he rarely knew what women wanted anyway-but he thinks he gets it.

He wraps his blanket covered arm around her shoulders, pulling them together, and if she’s at all surprised by his nakedness, she doesn’t let it show. Her arms are ice cold as they encircle his waist but he doesn’t think that’s why goosebumps spring up on his skin-she could make him feel chills when it was a hundred degrees outside. 

“It’s still considered morning,” she argues, giving him a chaste kiss. 

“It doesn’t feel like it,” he says as he adjusts the blanket around them, holding her closer to him, her body soft and warm against his. “I wanna stay here all day.”

“We have to leave for lunch by eleven,” she says, her cheek resting by his collarbone.

“Way to kill the mood.”

“What mood?” She asks, pulling away from him slightly, a relaxed, easy grin on her lips.

“Oh, you know-you, me, naked, under the stars and the moon,” he says, forcing a dreamy tone and she rolls her eyes.

“I’m not naked.”

“That can easily be changed,” he offers, tugging her slightly so now she’s standing in front of him, still covered with the blanket, their arms around each other. The arc reactor glows brightly, intensified by the darkness surrounding them, and her face is shining spectacularly, the blue light accentuating her eyes. She’s breathtaking.

He glances at the railing, wondering if it’s secure enough to have sex against-of all the ways he could die, going butt ass naked by falling off a balcony while balls deep in Pepper certainly wasn’t the most unappealing.

“I thought you were cold,” she says, kissing him softly and she tastes like fresh toothpaste. He’s sure _ he _ doesn’t, but she doesn’t seem to care when he runs his tongue along her bottom lip, and they stand there for what easily could’ve been five seconds or five hours, nothing but them, a slow, tired kiss, and the South African night.

He holds the blanket together with one fist near her back as he runs his other hand up her torso, starting at her hip until he’s cupping her breast, nothing hurried or frantic about their movements, they were comfortable-familiar-with each other by now and honestly, it was a foreign feeling to him-knowing someone and their body and every little tick they had-but he fucking loved it. 

“I’m warming up,” he murmurs when they pull back, holding her tighter, appreciating the fact that she’s just a tiny bit shorter than him when she’s not wearing heels-not by much, but maybe an inch, inch and a half.

Her arms are still around his waist and she squeezes him a little, her head resting on his shoulder and he welcomes the hug, his mouth dropping to her neck to kiss the skin exposed by his unbuttoned shirt. He’s half-asleep and his eyes shut as he lets out a small sigh, content just being held for the moment, mind fuzzy as they stand there. He can faintly smell the perfume she’d worn for their date night earlier, but the main scent taking his nose by storm is his cologne on the collar of his button-up that she’s wearing and some primal, alpha male instinct in him _ really _ likes it.

“Don’t leave a mark,” she orders when he tries to leave a hickey by her pulse point. 

“Why not?” He challenges, teeth scraping her smooth skin.

“We have the gala tonight, Tony,” she reminds, pulling back from the hug and she looks less than amused when he stares at her blankly. “It’s the reason we came to Johannesburg, remember?”

“I thought this was a romantic getaway.” He pouts slightly in the way he _ knows _ gets to her, but frustration is blocking her Tony-wooing-receptors.

“We were invited by the _ President of South Africa_, honey, it’s a big deal. Even Nelson Mandela will be there,” she says exasperatedly, her eyebrows now slightly furrowed.

“Did you _ have _to mention him?” Tony asks snippily and she purses her lips. “Great guy,” he assures, kissing her cheek, lingering, adding, “Just not the face I want in my head at three in the morning when you’re in nothing but my shirt.”

“Oh, so you agree that it is morning, then?” She asks, biting her lip to keep herself from smiling too wide and that twinkle in her eye-the one that’s always there when she gets him to agree to her side of whatever petty disagreement they’re having-makes her irresistible.

“Yes, it’s _ morning_,” he concedes, kissing her for a moment. “But still too early to be freezing our asses off out here, get back to bed. I’ve got plans for you.”

“We’re watching a Mandela documentary?” She asks seriously, her eyes wide and innocent, as if she doesn’t know exactly what unspeakable things he’s going to do to her once they get back to their bed.

“And then Bible study,” he agrees, picking her up suddenly, laughing at her surprised shriek as he laces his fingers together under her ass-which is bare, but only because of the thong she’s wearing, she hadn’t been going commando-but he’s completely naked and the feeling of her pressed into him is already working him up.

He kicks the balcony door shut behind them right as the blanket falls off-he hadn’t been holding it up and her arms are around his neck, so it was bound to go missing, but he doesn’t care because their messy, unmade bed-in total disarray from their activities a few hours prior-is less than a foot away. He tries to toss her onto it but she refuses to let go of him, so he collapses on top of her, their noses brushing when he kisses her.

“I love you, you know,” Tony says as he rolls them onto their sides, limbs still tangled up, their bodies molding into the other’s comfortably.

“You better,” she warns with a grin, her fingers combing through his hair. 

“I do,” he promises, kissing her forehead. “So, we _ have _ to go to the gala?”

“Yes,” Pepper answers immediately, stilling the hand that’s on the back of his head. 

“_Why_?” He asks, bringing his fingers up to brush some of her hair out of her face, his palm resting on her cheek. “I want to stay here.”

“We’re staying in Johannesburg, the event is only-”

“I mean _ here_,” he clarifies, squeezing her leg between two of his. 

“It’s only for a few hours.”

“Do you _ know _ the things I can do to you in a few hours?” He asks lowly as he holds her face, their mouths close enough that his lips barely brush hers when he speaks. 

“Do you _ know_-” she mocks his tone and kisses him for half a second “-that we came to South Africa specifically for this event?”

“We did? I _ knew _ about this?” He asks, narrowing his eyes at her skeptically. “Was it one of those things you had me agree to in the middle of sex? Because it’s just not _ fair _ when you do that, I-”

“No, we were both fully clothed,” she assures, her lips barely tugged up in a smile.

“Were you bribing me with something?” 

“No, I showed you the invitation and you said something about Mandela being cool and RSVPed for us.”

“Honey, please do _ not _ mention Nelson Mandela one more time,” Tony groans, squeezing his eyes shut, trying to get the face of the man who’d help bring an end to apartheid in South Africa out of his head and the picture of Pepper’s naked body back in.

“Then stop fighting me on this, we’re going to the gala.”

“But I don’t even _ wanna _ go out tonight,” he whines, resting his forehead against hers, his thumb running along her lower lip, her soft skin dragging against the pad of his finger. “We don’t ever get time together, Pep.”

“We’ve had the last day and a half together,” she says, tilting her face into his hand slightly and he grins-he knows he’s getting to her. 

“That’s not enough.”

“And the three extra hours that should be spent at a gala is?” She asks, quirking her eyebrow. 

“It’s not just three hours at the gala, it takes you forever to get ready for those things. And we have that stupid _ lunch_-”

“I’ll cancel the lunch if you promise to go to the gala and actually _ socialize_.” She gives him a stern look. “No hiding behind me or in the bathrooms.”

“But I like being behind you.” He winks suggestively and she half-heartedly shoves his shoulder, lip quirking in amusement despite her best efforts. “Who’s the lunch with?” He asks after a moment, not wanting to put pressure on her if their lunch happens to be with, say, Nelson Mandela. 

“The board. A few members flew out here and wanted-”

“Oh, fuck _ them_, I thought it was someone important,” he scoffs, beginning to fiddle with the buttons on her shirt. 

“They are important, Tony, they’re important people within your company-”

“_Our _ company-”

“-semantics-you should treat them with a little respect.”

“The only person who goes to those meetings that _ I _respect is you.”

“Cute.” She wrinkles her nose adorably. “You still have to go to the gala.”

“Why can’t we just have a night in?” He asks, the pleading whine of it sounding desperate and he doesn’t care-he doesn’t _ want _to go out. Tonight. Tomorrow. Ever. If Pepper’s by his side, he doesn’t want to leave their bed.

“Because we came here_ specifically for the gala_, Tony,” she huffs, her nail making small, random patterns where his shoulder begins to morph into his chest. “We have tomorrow, too, you know. And there’s nothing on the schedule.”

“What’s your dress look like?” He asks, ignoring the semi-valid point she has about tomorrow, eyes running up the length of her body. No piece of clothing would ever do her justice-even the most perfectly designed wardrobe couldn’t make her look as great as she did naked.

Tony isn’t particularly religious, but he definitely believes God was on the right path when He initially planned for humans to not wear clothes.

“Oh, you know,” she says airily. “A long piece of cloth that covers me. How dresses are normally made.”

“Smart ass,” he admonishes, kissing her gently as he finishes unbuttoning her shirt and slips it off one of her shoulders, creamy, freckled skin and supple breasts now exposed for his mouth and hands.

“If you fake an illness, we can stay at the gala for an hour, two tops,” she compromises as his lips begin to kiss along her collarbone.

“Why can’t _ you _ fake the illness?” He accuses into her skin.

“Because then everyone would assume I’m pregnant,” she says evenly, tilting her head back so that he has easier access to her neck.

“Morning sickness at night doesn’t make a lot of sense, but whatever.”

“It’d be morning at home.”

“Hmmm,” he hums by her jaw, nuzzling the skin there with his nose, breathing her in.

He doesn’t want to leave this bed-he really, _ really _ doesn’t-he’s being clingy and needy and he doesn’t care. He doesn’t know when the last time he sees her will be-with their combined statuses, one or both lived with the constant threat of an untimely death-and every goddamn moment he has with her, he wants to spend it _ alone_.

She turns and falls back into the pillows gracefully when he pushes her and he’s on top of her again, her legs wrapping around his waist loosely. “I’ll need kale milkshakes or something to make me vomit.”

Pepper nods, asking with a little teasing smile, “Will that be all, Mr. Stark?”

“No, that will _ not _ be all, Miss Potts,” he growls, kissing her with a filthy mouth, tongue and teeth and heat between their lips as one of her hands runs up his back, her nails barely scratching his spine as she goes and he shivers slightly at her touch. She’s responsive and so alive beneath him, warmth and comfort and everything lovely felt as he gets wrapped up in her embrace. 

“I love you,” she breathes when she pulls back after a long moment, her chest rising and falling in big breaths. 

He barely shifts his hips against hers and grins. “You just like using my body.”

“That too,” she agrees with an impish grin, kissing a spot under his jaw. 

Tony’s eyes sweep up her body-her flat stomach and perky breasts and graceful collarbone and content, absolutely perfect face-and can’t really put what he’s thinking or feeling into words, so instead he practically begs, “I’m serious, Pep, don’t make me go out tonight.”

“It’s only for a few hours.”

“I don’t care. I don’t wanna go out,” he says stubbornly, sucking at a spot on her neck pointedly. He doesn’t leave a permanent mark-she’d probably kill him if he did-but it does leave the skin red and he kisses over it soothingly. 

“What happened to you enjoying parties?”

“A _ gala _ is not a party. If I have to dress up like a goddamn circus monkey, it’s not fun.”

“I like it when you dress up, though,” she says, voice lower and seductive and purposefully the pitch that drives him nuts before she bites her bottom lip and he’s pretty sure she could get him to agree to a thousand galas with this evil tactic. “Come on, Tony, for me. Please?”

“One hour. Enough to meet Mandela.”

Peppers laugh is loud in the quiet room and her eyes squint slightly with her amusement as she says, “I thought we said no more Mandela talk.”

“We’re going to a fucking gala, the moods been shot to hell anyway,” he groans when her hips barely move up, the rough lace of her tiny thong brushing against him, knowing damn well that Pepper could _ always _get him in the mood. 

“That’s a shame.” Her lips purse and she looks like a devilish little sex demon when she continues, “I had plans for you.”

The image of her mouth around his cock gets stuck in his head and he barely twitches against her thigh, not missing the way her hips tilt into him or the gleam in her eye. 

“Honey, it’s time to come clean; my one true love is Mandela,” he barely manages to get out when her hand reaches between their bodies and takes hold of him. 

“You’re about to be stuck at the gala for the whole time, Tony,” she warns, squeezing him just right and flicking her thumb over the head. 

“You wouldn’t be able to resist me,” he scoffs, barely thrusting into her hand as she continues working him up. 

“Is that so?” She teases, kissing him shortly. 

“I’m wearing your favorite tux.”

“No you’re not,” she laughs, twisting her hand around him. “That one’s ruined, remember?”

The memory of them coming back from some event-not a gala, but something meaningless to him but important to her-comes to mind, her desperate fingers tearing the buttons off his suit and pulling his fly down just far enough to get him out of his pants. Between stains and rips, her favorite tux was no more. 

“I’m wearing your _ new _ favorite tux,” he rephrases, groaning into her neck as she moves her hand up and down him suddenly very fast. 

“Well,” she begins before letting him go and pushing his unsuspecting body off of her, rolling away from him with a cute little giggle. “I’m sure _ Mandela _ will enjoy it, then.”

Tony stares at her for a moment, laying there on her stomach between rumpled sheets in nothing but a black lacy thong-the image doing absolutely _ nothing _ for the cloud of lust fogging his brain-before he grabs the inside of her thigh, pulling her towards him, kissing her pale shoulder blade as he hovers over her back. 

“Mandela wouldn’t treat me like this,” he says against her skin, running his tongue along her spine, reveling in the way she arches her back in pleasure before tossing a playfully menacing glare over her shoulder. 

“You can leave with him tonight, then,” she hums happily when he squeezes her hips and nips at the dimples near the base of her spine. 

“Won’t have to worry about that if we don’t go,” he murmurs, tugging her thong down her silky thighs. 

“Tony-” she meets his eyes when he glances up “-please don’t fight me on this. We have to go. I promise we’ll leave early and-”

“Shh,” he hums into her skin, fingers lazily trailing up between her legs. “We’ll go, promise me we don’t go out tomorrow night.”

“We won’t,” she gasps as his thumb spreads her wet heat.

“I don’t wanna leave your side, Pep,” he says without really thinking.

He’s not sure if she has a response to that because she moans at the feeling of her fingers on her and he grins like the devil possesses him when his name falls off her lips. He doesn’t want to go out tonight-with her by his side, he wants them in bed, all day, every day-but he knows he has to compromise to make things work-she’s missed events before because of his incessant begging and whining. He’s sure the event is important if they flew all the way out to Johannesburg for a few days and all joking aside, he does think it’ll be cool to meet Nelson Mandela. 

And it is; later that night, they meet one of the world’s greatest civil rights activists and he’s pleasantly surprised and taken aback-probably also a little confused-by their fascination in him, and their side glances and poorly-concealed grins as they talk for nearly thirty minutes-a considerable feat at a pretentious, stuffy event like that. 

Tony behaves throughout the duration of the gala-faking an illness just as planned-and is rewarded well; Pepper’s _ new _ favorite tux is ruined before they even make it to the hotel.

* * *

_I don't even wanna go out tonight_  
_ No, I've got you by my side_  
_ I don't even need to sugarcoat it, girl_  
_ No, I've got you by my side, by my side_


End file.
